He Was Trouble
by hisorako
Summary: She had loved him for what seemed like forever. But she should have known it couldn't be. She had know he was trouble. Trouble. Ikarishipping. Oneshot. Based loosely on Taylor Swift's "I Knew You Were Trouble".


_Hello, Pokémon fans. A few things to keep in mind while reading this story:  
- Dawn and Paul are now teenagers (this is AFTER the anime)  
- This fic is based (loosely) on Taylor Swift's "I Knew You Were Trouble" (the song is in English, but if you are looking for a good Spanish version, I recommend Kevin Karla y La Banda's, which can be found on YouTube)  
- This fic is based (loosely, since I obviously don't live in the Pokémon world) on my life  
_

_To Ichiro. Zai jien, wo de peng yu. Zi ge shih wo de last zai jien. (Good-bye, my friend. THis is my last good-bye.)_

* * *

She lay in her bed, her eyes glued to the ceiling. It was ten o'clock in the morning, late by even her standards. But she didn't care. Hugging her pillow tight, she was prepared to stay there for the entire day (and maybe a week, if she was lucky). She had spent the entire night sleepless, sobbing to her pokémon. Now they were bone-weary, and she was too, but she couldn't sleep. The same thoughts ran through her head like a train stuck in an endless loop. Her face was gray, devoid of any emotion. It had been too long for that. She closed her eyes.

How had it all begun? Maybe it was that day when they had first met, when he battled Ash for the first time. It couldn't have been then, could it? The cold look in his eyes when he let the starly go was far from appealing. But it was something about his eyes that drew her in. They invited her. And before he had said a word, she had fallen for him.

She wasn't exactly sure how she had loved him; only that she did. His frozen glare never went away, though; how had she never noticed that? How had she plunged on, blindly following him? How had she let herself do that?

She had known he was trouble. Trouble.

Tears streamed down her face. How stupid she had been. How could she have thought he loved her? He didn't know her. He barely remembered her name. She thought they had a moment there, back when he had told her what he thought of Ash. She had hated that he had said such mean things about her friend (and for no good reason), but she loved the adrenaline that coursed through her body when he looked at her. At the time, it had seemed so important, but it now seemed to have dwarfed in significance.

She had known he was trouble. Trouble.

But she had seen and heard things. Twice she opened an issue of _Pokémon Journal_ to find his face with a girl. A beautiful, tall, older girl with the looks of a supermodel. Her hair was so light that it was almost white. Did he like older, taller, light-haired girls? She didn't know. And still doesn't know. Crushing strands of her own navy hair, she sobs, her eyes shut against the world. She can't do this, can't bear to leave it all in the past. Even if it was all a misguided, one-sided, imagined misunderstanding, she can't leave off loving him, can't leave off feeling the way she does when he looks at her. She knows it's hopeless, but what can she do? A hopeless romantic, just like the ones in her mother's books, is all she'll ever be.

She had known he was trouble. Trouble.

She promises herself she'll never put herself in that kind of situation again, never give love its opportunity to knock at her door. She twists in her sheets, trying to rid herself of all thoughts of him. But she can't. Every time she closes her eyes, his face appears. Every time she sees something in her room (anything, really: books, curtains, or whatever catches her wandering eye), she remembers him. He is as much a part of her as her flesh and bones. She breathes him, drinks him in with each blink of her eyes.

She had known he was trouble. Trouble.

She's lying bed, lying to herself, saying that, no, she doesn't love him and how could she? He's always so rude, so cold. So unlike her. No, she doesn't love him; she hates him, hates his cold heart and cold eyes. Then why does her blood course with adrenaline every time she talks to him? He's just an annoying boy; isn't he? His manners are coarse and he's rough around the edges, but is it possible he could be a diamond in the rough? Is it possible that he could be the boy that means the most to her, the one who's stolen her heart, her thoughts, her very life away? She wavers back as forth, back and forth. She knows what she thinks of him, yet she doesn't know what to make of him, what to make of this problematic enigma.

A knock at the door startled her from her troubled ponderings.

"Dawn, honey, someone is here to see you," he mother calls from the stairs.

The tone is soft, forgettable, and utterly unremarkable in any way, except for the slight quaver in her voice at the very end. Her daughter knows not what to make of it. It's something that she has never heard touch her mother: uncertainty.

"Oh, Mom, let them in. Don't worry; I didn't trash the room too much. And they're used to it, anyways." She makes her voice confident and firm, without a care in the world. She has no idea what in the world's gotten her mother so shaken, but she's prepared to find out.

She hears her mother draw in a quick breath before turning the knob. Noiselessly, the door swings open. She looks up, expecting to see Kenny or maybe Zoey. They're some of the closest friends she has; she doesn't care if they see her like this, in her disheveled state. What she sees blows her away.

In the doorway, behind her mother, is the figure that is as familiar to her as her own self, after countless dreams, thoughts, and looks.

"Paul..." This time she's quiet, hoarse after what seems like an eternity of crying and scared at his very presence.

He doesn't look at her. He's too busy looking around the room, at the stuffed poké dolls lying in disarray on her desk, at the not-quite-closed window. His eyes shift over the room, finally settling at the pink heap of fabric and ribbon that now only vaguely resembles her contest dress. His beautiful, sharp eyes soften and widen at the sight.

"What did you..." He doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, his eyes are on two open magazines and on the pictures arrayed across the open pages. They run across the white headlines that criss-cross over his face. His eyes widen again. He And he finally meets her eyes. And opens his mouth to speak. "You actually believe this junk?"

She freezes half, her mind working to comprehend what he said. Her features relaxes in relief as realization strikes her. "You mean..."

He nods. "That's Reggie's girlfriend, stupid. They're getting married next year. I went with her to pick a present for him and wedding stuff while he was working."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush. It was nothing, just a misunderstanding, and she was embarrassed she had gotten so worked up over it. She smiles and tries to wave it off. "I hope they have a nice wedding. When will it be?"

He simply shrugs. "The beginning of spring, probably." (His eyes are bored, she thinks.) But what more is there to say? She can't very well blurt out what she's been thinking for hours, can't very well say that she loves him so much it hurts. She knows he'll hate her, cast her off like a rag. But what more is there to say?

He sighs (in frustration, she thinks). "Stop being so troublesome." He turns his face away. "Stop worrying about such dumb things."

"Only if you stop being so mean!" she yells on impulse. She's standing up now and mad as can be. But she secretly wonders if he's really being so mean. (She thinks it's irritating when he does this but can't help thinking it cute.) Is it possible that he actually cares about her, the way she thought he did? But he hates her...doesn't he? But if he did, why would he come to see her?

"Why are you here, anyways?" she asks, her hands on her hips. "Did you come just to bother me?"

He glares at her. "No. I came to check on you."

This catches her off-guard. "Why?" she wonders, forgetting her anger.

He shrugs again, not meeting her eyes. "Your friends were worried."

"Is that all? _Is that all?_" she shouts at him. "You came all the way here _just because my friends told you to?"_

"_No. _I came _because I was concerned!_"

Thick silence hangs in the air. She gapes at him and he shoots his eyes out the window, his cheeks red. She wonders if he likes her. She studies him, hoping for a clue. But it's no good. As usual, she can't read his face. She can't decipher the look he had in his eyes.

"Paul..." she begins.

"Shut up!" he exclaims angrily. "I'm thinking.'

"Paul," she starts again, her voice louder this time, "do you like me?"

He's quiet. "Yeah." He mutters the word, as if he hopes it will escape her notice.

She hears him. "Paul. I-I like you, too."

It's his turn to be surprised. "R-really?" he asks, turning to her.

"Really."

She sits down on her messy bed, patting the space beside her. And, for once, he obeys, sitting close to her. They have a lot to talk about.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! How was it? This was my first Ikarishipping fic, so let me know if Paul was too out-of-character. Review, please! ^_^_


End file.
